


Kiss Me Through the Phone

by broception



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broception/pseuds/broception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phone sex happens because of one of Eames' dreams, and of course there are some love declarations along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Through the Phone

Arthur answers on the fourth ring, because he knows it’s Eames, and he doesn’t want it to look like he actually _knows_ this.

“Hello?”

“Such, a fucking _bloody_ cocktease,” Eames growls into the phone, his breathing heavy, and hard, and it sound delicious in his ear, causing coils to run up Arthur’s spine. “Walking around the fucking warehouse in your tailored trousers and too tight shirt and bloody fuckin’ moving your hips like you-” he cut himself off, and he can hear the sound of skin on skin. It turns him on more than it should, truly, because he shouldn’t be turned on by the fact that Eames is touching himself, that he called touching himself.

Eames’ voice is hot like it’s running over lava, and that’s a sound that he will never get used to. “We’re not on the same job right now, Eames,” he replies, instead.

He can practically hear him smirk. “I know, kitten, but I figured we could have a rumble in the jungle,” he says.

Arthur snorts out laughter, and somehow his cock is left twitching in his pants. He refuses to tell Eames this, and instead unzips his fly carefully, knowing that his hearing is like that of a dogs and he’d probably hear Arthur getting off. “That’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Wanna fuck you so bad right now,” Eames pants into the phone, “wanna strap you to the bed and fuck you like a whore, want you screaming my name over and over again, and I’ll-“

Arthur lets out a whine, unable to help himself. “There’s a boy,” he says.

It’s then he realizes that Eames probably planned this entire thing, but his cock is straining in his pants, and he’s too far gone to care. “Tell me,” Arthur breathes.

“Tell you what, darling?” He asks, his voice is lower then it was before, which he didn’t know was possible.

“Tell me what you dream about doing to me.”

Eames’ snarl rips through his throat at that, loud, and deep, vaguely resembling a wolf’s -- and this shouldn’t be a turn on, but somehow it is -- and it sends stabs of pleasure down his spine.

 

“Tell me,” Eames pants, his breathing getting more sporadic, and Arthur knows he’s not going to last long if he doesn’t fucking stop touching himself like that. “Are you touching yourself?”

Arthur nods, “stop pulling on your cock, Eames, I want this to last,” the last word comes out as a breathless moan. He hurries his boxers and pants off the rest of the way, because his dick’s screaming for him, and normally he lasts longer than this, but they haven’t seen each other in months. He wraps a hand around himself, and a sound that’s caught halfway between a mewl and a tearless sob fall from his lips. “Fuck yeah I’m touching myself, fuck, want to ride your dick, want you to writhe and thrash beneath me until you beg me to ride you harder than anyone has before-“

“Arthur,” he keens, and he imagines that Eames is probably restraining himself from touching his cock now, because he listens to Arthur when it comes to this.

He likes having the control, even if it’s over the phone, even if they’re far away from each other, it’s nice, and Arthur’s cock twitches in his hand. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers curling around his pubic hair possessively. He likes to think that it’s Eames’ golden brown hair in his hands, thrusting him closer to his dick as Eames’ incredible mouth brings him over the edge.

“You’d be walking around the warehouse-“

“Like I was in your dream?”

Eames chokes on a breath, or a moan, he can’t quite tell, but it makes him croon anyways. “Yes.”

“Go on.”

“You’d tease me all day, because you’re a right bloody cocktease when you want to be, and when I can’t take it anymore, your hips swaying, I’ll push you up against the cabinets and grab your lips with my teeth.” He hisses, and Arthur knows he’s not touching himself yet; even if he is, it’s nothing like he was before, when he had first called.

Arthur’s fingers are flying over his erect cock, which is leaking at the head, and he’s long past caring that he’s getting it everywhere. He has never cared when it comes to Eames, and he’s not going to start now.

“Then what-“

“-I’d fuck your mouth with my tongue,” he shivers at this, remembering how it feels. “And once you get tired of that, I’d sink my teeth into it, because I know how much you like to be played with, I’d tease your mouth open like I’d tease your hole open later, slowly and I’ll make you beg for me.”

Arthur might whine a little, and it’s undignified but it feels right leaving his mouth, so he keeps fucking his hand, not caring if Eames is being smug now. “Next-“

“Darling,” Eames whimpers, he imagines his fingers twitching across his inner thigh, begging, begging, begging to touch his red, gorgeous cock. “Please,”

“So pretty,” Arthur breathes, “so pretty when you beg.”

“Please, Arthur, please,” he repeats.

“Please what?”

“Let me fuck my hand, like I’m going to fuck your arse later.”

Arthur smirks. “Just one touch,” he says. “If you don’t follow my instructions, I’ll know Eames, I know how you sound when you touch yourself.”

“Underside only,” he says after a breath, because he knows Eames will listen to him. He doesn’t want to stop the game, and by breaking the rules, the power goes off.

Arthur breathes into the phone, his breath hitching as he hears the whimpering noises Eames is releasing. He knows that his underside is the most sensitive part of his cock (besides the head, of course), but he also knows that this isn't enough to make him come, that requires a loose hold at the base, his other hand climbing up his shaft, focusing on the underside.

There's something incredibly attractive about the way that he sounds when he pants, Arthur thinks, and this isn't just because he's incredibly turned on right now, from Eames and what he's saying. He's always found harsh smokers breath attractive, and on him it's intensified.

"More," he commands.

He complies, as he always does. "I'd peel off your clothes with my hands, slowly, teasing you, making you squirm underneath my weight," he hisses, his voice too low, but it makes pre-come sprout from his head.

"Fuck yes."

"After your naked, I'd trace all of your muscles with my tongue, and once you're writhing beneath me, you'll be bloody begging me to turn you over and fuck your ass with my fingers."

Arthur whimpers, he can't exactly help it, it's a mixture of him thinking about this, about Eames turning him over and fucking him all day, and Eames' hot voice in his ear, telling him what he'd do, how he'd own him. "E-Eames," he gasps.

"I'd still be completely clothed, too, so your pre-come would splatter on my pants. And when I was alone, on a job where I couldn't be around you, like now, I'd be fucking my cock into them, into the stain so I could remember how it once felt on my skin."

Arthur's rhythm is completely distorted now, and he's unable to control it, and it's not like he wants to. He loves it when Eames has him like this, completely ready to come so he can stop dancing around the edges of the post-coital bliss that he enjoys so much. But he wants to hear Eames come apart, he wants Eames to push himself so close to the edge so he's begging for Arthur to finally let him come.

"Then-then I'd tear off your clothes," Arthur breathes, getting in his bit, because he wants Eames to be shaking from his words, too. "And I'd let you fuck my mouth-"

"Arthur," he whines, "fuck yes you will."

"More."

"And when I'm done stretching you open with two fingers, I'd stick my tongue in you and lick you until you’re a shivering mess beneath me, not even caring if you're fucked properly because all you want to do is come," he says, his voice is strained, like he can barely force out words anymore. "But you'd still -- fuck -- you'd still need it, your hole wouldn't feel complete without-"

"Yes." Arthur pants, because they both know it's true. Arthur enjoys the burn of his almost too big cock inside him, stretching him wide, he enjoys being pushed close to the edge of his limits, and Eames is the only one that's able to do this.

"Are you still, oh, are you still touching yourself?"

"Fuck, yes," Arthur breathes, his fingers teasing his slit, and he's pretending that it's Eames' tongue, it makes him let out the groan that has been dancing in his throat for a while. "I haven't stopped."

"Please," Eames whispers, "please."

Arthur doesn't know how, but he has the strength to raise an eyebrow. He's sweating, and it's getting all over the receiver, but it's not like he actually cares, he loves it like this, he loves shivering and muttering, and barely being able to even think because all he wants is to come.

"Pretty boy," he repeats, "what is it that you want?"

The Brit mewls, and he imagines his body flushed and sweaty, the way it always is after they've been fucking around for a while, his skin hot, too hot pressed up against Arthur's, the way his fingers would possessively curl around his arm, holding him to the bed. He'd fuck into him with no compromise because this is what Arthur likes, and Eames gives everything to Arthur wants to him.

"Let me - oh, let me come, fuck."

Arthur smirks. "More, please Eames, more," he whimpers, so close to the edge that he can almost taste it.

Eames grunts into the phone, annoyed and frustrated, and there's a silence on the other end of the line. The only sounds are Eames' harsh breathing and the sound of skin contact.

"Bloody tease," he says, "after I was done slicking your ass with my spit, I would turn you around, and sit you on my lap, and sink you down onto my cock, and you'd take it, because you love a brutal fuck."

All that it takes to push Arthur over the edge is the image of riding Eames, his blunt cock inside of him, pushing against his prostrate as he thrusts relentlessly, giving him everything that he’s been wanting since the start of this conversation.

“Eames, fuck, I’m going-” he cuts himself off, because the tightening in his stomach is distracting, and one, two, four more pulls of his cock and he’s coming over the edge. His ears feel with loud white noise, and his vision clouds over from the stars and white light.

“Arthur, please,” he’s begging again. Arthur feels boneless against the sheets, and sinks further into them, feeling sated and he’s shaking in post-coital bliss.

It definitely is the best orgasm he’s had in a while.

“Come for me Eames,” he whispers.

All he hears in return is a shout, and he thinks he hears ‘fuck yeah’, and maybe, ‘Arthur’, but he’s not exactly sure, all he knows is that Eames sounds ridiculously attractive when he comes.

There’s silence on both ends for a while, both of them heavily panting, coming down from their orgasms. Arthur’s shaking from the aftershocks, letting his mind haze over, his eyelids get heavy with the sleep that always threatens to take him after he’s come.

“Arthur,” he whispers.

And he smiles. “That was nice,” he says.

“Arthur,” he repeats.

“Mmm,” he mutters.

Eames doesn’t say anything, and Arthur almost thinks that he’s fallen asleep until he hears a grumble. “‘m going to get over there, soon as I can, and I’m going to fuck you properly,” he says.

Arthur’s too gone to really take this for what it means. He curls up with his pillow, picturing that it’s Eames. “‘s nice.” He says, “Eames?”

“Yes darling?”

“Like you,” he mutters, and he doesn’t hear Eames’ chuckle, because he’s already out cold.


End file.
